


Letters From a Friend

by writerllofllworlds



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, BUT ALSO HAPPY, Fluff, all of the characters besides the first 3 are just mentioned, it's sad, slight Merthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 01:16:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14631024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerllofllworlds/pseuds/writerllofllworlds
Summary: Arthur returns and Kilgharrah is as helpful as he is in the show. However, he does get him to Merlin, and isn't that what matters?(Sorry, I know it's not a good summary. Bite me.)





	Letters From a Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! As per usual, I don't own them, but the story idea is mine! I hope you like it!   
> Comments are much appreciated!

Arthur was drowning.

Water was filling his lungs faster than he could swim upwards. The sky, murky yet blue through the water, was too far above him. He would never make it. Why he was submerged into this lake he had no clue, and he honestly wouldn’t have long to figure out. He was going to die.

Where was Merlin when you needed him?

And why did his chest hurt whenever he thought of his idiot servant?

He supposed it wouldn’t matter in a few moments anyway.

Arthur kicked and continued to try and breach the surface. It grew harder with each swing of his arms, each push of his feet. His vision was growing dark.

Suddenly, his head was bursting out of the water. He coughed, water expelling from his lungs as he was dragged somewhere. His vision still foggy, Arthur shook his head and ignored the pain that sprouted there. A bank came into view, grassy and green and sparkling in the rising sun. And pulling him towards it was an old man.

Arthur’s first reaction was Dragoon, but for some reason that didn’t make any sense. For one, the man looked nothing like him. And secondly, well, Arthur couldn’t remember why exactly, but this man being dragoon just didn’t make a whole lot of sense.

The man was clothed simply, or at least Arthur assumed it was simply. It was no attire that he had ever seen before. It was soaking yet, but it seemed to be a hoodless cloak and trousers, and his boots were similar enough to Arthur’s own, if not shorter and had many more laces. His hat was… a hat, he supposed. Nothing of the sort had ever passed through Camelot that he could remember, and surely they couldn’t be that far from his kingdom-

Arthur suddenly lurched around. His eyes grew wide and his heart dropped to his feet. The landscape, or lack thereof, was so unfamiliar it made him gasp. He coughed again, throat hurting, but this time it was from the tears in his eyes.

 

“Yes, yes, cough it up.” The man was surprisingly strong for someone his age. “Destiny seems not to be done with you yet, Young King.”

“Who are you?” Arthur rasped, feet hitting sandy mud. He struggled to stand in the water, happy to find that he was still clothed like a sane person. His cape weighed a ton, and the armor that covered his chest was making his breathing difficult. He was horrified to look a second time and find rust covering the metal sheen. He quickly took off both pieces and cast them aside, the water splashing up onto him. He wiped his hands on his trousers and looked at the old man.

He was surprised to feel a familiarity with the man. His beard was short and white, dusted with brown. He was old, a little too old to be realistic, and his eyes were ones that were probably wise yet aggravating. He reminded him of Merlin.

And his chest hurt again, but he couldn’t understand why.

“Who am I?” the old man tapped his chin in thought. “Well, the question is more of who am I to you. After all, not many people knew who I really was.”

Immediately, Arthur did not like the man. Anyone who did not talk plainly was quick to get on Arthur’s nerves.

“Do you have a name, old man?” The king raised a brow.

“You knew me as other than I am.” The man quirked a brow of his own.

Arthur groaned. “If you cannot help me-.”

“My name is Kilgharrah, you impatient boy.” the man – Kilgharrah – rolled his eyes. “And I thought Emrys was pushy.”

 

The king stopped walking towards the bank. “Emrys? Why do-,”

Oh.

Merlin.

Pain coursed through him as memories came flooding back. Camlan, Merlin’s confession, dying.

“Yes,” Kilgharrah chuckled. “He knew you wouldn’t remember everything immediately.

“He stood on that beach after you died.” The man came up beside him. “Spell after spell he wrought to trade his life for yours.” He gestured around at the sky and the mist that hovered over the waters. “This place practically glowed with magic for years after that day. All of the foolish things he’s done… Yet nothing worked. The Old Religion had its cost and you had paid the price.”

Arthur swallowed the bile rising in his throat at the thought of Merlin, his Merlin, standing on that grassy bank, his heart tearing out of his chest as he screamed again and again for an exchange. For a swap, a bargain, a trade, _anything_ for his king back.

“He would have given kingdoms to see you safely in his arms one last time.” Kilgharrah breathed, and this time there wasn’t judgment in his tone. It was as simple as saying the sky was blue or that water was wet. A fact. “The amount of magic he used made people stay far away from this lake for centuries. Of course, then the Industrial Revolution happened and humans, especially the Brits, have never handled the word ‘no’ very well…”

Arthur shook his head, closing his eyes to the pain that was building up in his chest. “I-,”

“It’s hard to wrap your head around, I understand.” The man interrupted. “Give it a few minutes. Meanwhile, let’s get you into something more… modern. While I’m sure the women of this age wouldn’t mind the sight of a knight in shining armor, you’ll attract as much bad attention in the Pendragon colors as you will good. Come along.”

 

The king followed without realizing it. His mind was still millions of miles away to a time where Merlin has stood over the body of his fallen friend and broke forever.

“Wait.” He finally held his hands up when they had crossed to the bank and across the road that stood near it. “How do you even know that? How do you know Merlin? Why are you talking about all of this like it happened ages ago? What is-,”

“Questions, questions, Your Majesty.” Kilgharrah clicked his tongue. “Follow me and while we walk I will give you the answers you need, though perhaps not the ones you wish to find.”

“Again with the riddles, old man.” Arthur groaned, but resumed his walk. “Merlin must have hated you.”

“Not entirely.” There was the barest hint of a smile on his face as if a pleasant memory had crossed his mind. “He grew to enjoy my company more and more as he aged. Though, one can suspect as much. An old enemy is as good as the closest friend when you have no one else.”

“You were enemies?” Arthur’s guard was immediately up. Anyone who dared lay a hand on his Merlin was sure to-,

“No, no, we were not enemies.” He chuckled at that. “We were friends. I saw Merlin grow up into the most powerful sorcerer ever to walk the earth. He was my kin.”

“Your kin…?” the king shook his head again. “Oh, just speak plainly!”

“Much has changed since you have been ruler of these lands, Arthur. Things are not as they seem.”

Arthur was growing very tired of this man very quickly. “So help me… much has changed? What does that mean?”

“It has been nearly 1500 years since you reigned, Your Majesty. The tales of your adventures have passed into legends. Your knights and round table are famous, but as fictional as fairytale to those of this age. You, in every aspect, are ancient.”

 

The blonde was once again riddled with shock. Surely no one man could handle these many surprises in a single day?

“ _1500 years_?” Arthur choked. And then suddenly, “You said Merlin had no one else. Was he… he couldn’t possibly still be…”

“Merlin is known as the Druid’s Emrys.” Kilgharrah answered, though not helpfully. “Powerful, wise, and, yes, immortal. Merlin was destined to live until his king returned.”

The tears couldn’t be stopped then. The horrible implications of such a statement were too painful to voice into the morning stillness, the horror to great. Merlin was all smiles and talking and laughter. He wasn’t _destined_ to be alone. He wasn’t _destined_ to bear the pain of his life and Arthur’s passing for _1500_ years.

“ _Destiny_.” Arthur spat. “Destiny is a cruel mistress if it would dictate a life of loneliness for Merlin.”

“No man, no matter how great, can know his destiny, Arthur. Some lives have been foretold. You were destined to rise from that lake as much as you were destined to die by it. Merlin knew this.”

Arthur’s vision swam with the wetness of tears. “And you think that makes it any better? Merlin was _good_! He did not deserve to live with that pain and heartache for millennia! How dare you-,”

“Do not speak of things you do not understand.” Suddenly a very dark shadow passed over Kilgharrah’s face and Arthur nearly stepped back at the ferocious look in his eyes. “You know nothing of the years that Emrys has suffered. I have been here for more than you can imagine, have seen things you never will. His pain is my pain, his heartache we shared. You speak of his hurt, but you know _nothing_ of it.”

 

Arthur’s anger boiled. “Who are you, old man. I won’t ask again.”

His old eyes narrowed. “While the name given to me was Kilgharrah, you will know me as the Great Dragon.”

The world around him froze. Arthur’s vision tunneled and before he could think, his hand was on his sword. It shone in the morning light, still the beacon of hope and victory it had always been. He raised it in front of him, blinded by the fury that had long since been dormant and all of the emotions that rushed through him like a river.

“Honestly,” Kilgharrah huffed and rolled his eyes.

He waved his hand and Arthur’s world went black.

 

 

Arthur woke on a bed made of clouds. Or at least that was how it felt. He had never slept on anything so comfortable, even in his large four poster bed in Camelot. He buried his face further into the covers, having half a mind to tell Merlin to let him sleep in another half hour instead of going to that council-.

And like that he was up faster than lightning. Because Merlin wasn’t his servant anymore. Because 1500 years had passed since any such situation would have occurred. Because Merlin was not here and Arthur had left him.

Arthur had abandoned him for a millennium and a half. He had left him in a hurricane of torture and suffering.

He buried his head in his hands and sobbed.

He couldn’t imagine being away from Merlin for more than a week. 1500 years… good _God_.

“I’m so sorry, Merlin. Oh, forgive me.”

 

_Everything you’ve done, I know now. For me, for Camelot. For the future you helped me build_.

 

Arthur sat there for hours, sobbing into his hands as memories flashed through his brain like a thunderstorm. So many instances where Merlin’s magic had been out there for him to see and he had no idea. So many times when a convenient branch or fire had stopped the advance of their enemies and Arthur was oblivious. So many situations where they escaped far easier than believable, and Arthur called it luck or his unfathomable skill.

So many times where Merlin had been content to live in the shadow cast by Arthur’s light.

Eventually, Arthur shed all the tears he physically possessed and was forced to simply stare at nothing.

Well, not nothing. The room he hadn’t looked at until that moment was lovely, if not quaint. It was small, but well furnished and taken care of. Books liked every available wall space and were stacked on counters. Paintings and papers were hung from the ceiling and walls. Magical, literally, lights sparkled in the air, and they hummed as if almost alive. And the greatest thing of all was that it all screamed Merlin.

This was Merlin’s room. His Merlin.

A giddy feeling spread through where the horrible pain had left an empty landscape. It filled him like a refreshing drink of water and he stood, a grin wider than he could remember sliding onto his lips. He scoured the room and each thing, each shirt and book reminded him of his companion. He ran his hands over the bookshelves and table. He fingered through pages and ran his hands over the silky curtains. And just when he thought he couldn’t be happier, he spotted a very familiar piece of red cloth.

Arthur discovered he had not spent all of his tears.

Merlin’s scarf still smelled the same as it always had. He picked it up off the table and held it to his nose, taking a long sniff of everything that was Merlin. Memories of laughter and horrible nicknames enveloped him like an embrace, and he felt peace for the first time since emerging from that lake.

He placed the scarf back down on the table, and his eyes caught Merlin’s lovely scrawl. His handwriting had always been too neat for a servant, but Arthur used to love watching him write. He picked up one of the papers, and the first line made him drop it.

 

_Dear Dollophead_ ,

Arthur let out a laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.

Letters. They were letters.

Arthur gently, as if was a precious treasure, reached for the paper again.

_Dear Dollophead,_

_Morgana’s back. I found her in one of the druid camps in Gaul. She’s a charming child. She’s got the same eyes, the ones that knew too much at such a young age. She remembers nothing, unlike Lancelot had. It’s been almost 800 years since last I saw her, but she still has that mischievous smile she wore when I first met her and there was still hope. The druids there know of me and have told me they will send word if she begins to go down the road we know she followed. I’ll be keeping an eye on her for now, and as I always do when one of you rabble-rousers return, I am staying near Avalon in case I am to see your stupid face emerging from the lake._

_Don’t drown,_

_Merlin, the 17 th of September 1209 AD_.

Arthur traced the letters. The familiarity of the script and the jesting tone were almost too much for him to bear. He had met Morgana again, and Lancelot too. So he hadn’t been fully alone, at least not forever.

He quickly picked up another.

 

_My King,_

_It has been far too long since you have left me. Too long._

_Terror reigns at every opportunity. The good are so quickly squandered by the evil. Light is so quickly snuffed out by the darkness. The atrocities that we faced have come back to haunt me. The Old Religion is on the attack, and I don’t know if I can stop it._

_I miss you greatly. I know that if you were only here…_

Merlin never finished that one, but it hurt.

If only he had been there.

He reached for another.

 

_Arthur,_

_There really was a girl, once. She was one of the greatest things that destiny ever brought me, though whether or not destiny is really to blame I do not know. She was beautiful, Arthur, and she was kind. Like I, she was cursed with a power she could not control. Cursed to be a monster._

_She was wonderful._

_I have lost so many people in my life, Arthur, but few were as painful as her. I loved her like I have loved no one else, and with her, I had finally found a home. She loved me despite all of my flaws._

_I almost ran away with her, but she, as everyone else in my life ever did, saw how important you were to me. How important Camelot was. She knew I could never really leave you. So she tried to leave me and run._

_She was killed. I carried her body to the very lake that I burned you in. I carried her body…_

_I lost something very important that day, and I don’t think I will ever get it back._

_Her name was Freya. If you see her, tell her I say hello._

_Merlin, the 8 th of January, 1634 AD_

 

Arthur found that how he was addressed in the greeting depended on the weight of the letter. When Merlin wanted to convey a playful tone to help with a serious message, he would be _Dollophead_. When he was reminiscing or missing him, it was _My King_. And when Merlin just wanted his friend by his side, it was _Arthur_.

Many of them were addressed to _Arthur_. These, he found, were the ones that he came back to again and again.

 

_Arthur,_

_Sometimes I wonder if Albion was worth the lives that I’ve taken. I wonder if the pain, the suffering, the unending torture of this hellish immortal life is worth anything at all. If it would be better if I had just died there beside you on that beach and at least be happy knowing that I would be with you._

_I wonder, but never about you. Never you._

_You’ve always been worth it._

_Merlin, the 12 th of May, 1853_

 

Arthur very nearly loses it again at that letter. He whispers, “You were worth it too, Merlin.”

 

_My King,_

_Another war has taken over Germany. I barely escaped, but so many others were not so lucky. Their leader, Adolf Hitler, is a vile man. Nothing in all our years together amounts to him. He is pure evil._

_I thought that I could have some peace after World War I, but it seems it was only my old optimism rearing it useless head. I am dwelling in France for the time being, but I have to move soon. The Nazis are coming here, I can sense it. Gwaine and I are trying to find safe passage back to England, but it is proving much more difficult that we first thought. He keeps a joyous mood, however, which is more than I can say for myself. I know you always said my funny feelings were ridiculous, but I can feel it, My King. This will be the end of goodness in this world._

_There is a hope whenever disaster strikes, however. A hope that you will return._

_Because, if you do not return now, I fear for the future, for what could be worse than this?_

_Merlin, the 7 th of October, 1939_

 

There are many, many letters from the years of 1939 to 1945 and all talk of great turmoil. Merlin loses Gwaine again to the war, though it is not the first time that Gwaine has returned only to die and break the warlock’s heart all over again. The evils of World War II are hard to read, and Arthur cannot imagine how one man can be so heartless until Merlin speaks of Jopseh Stalin, and he wishes that he had been there to remind Merlin that he was not alone. There was one letter that went into great detail of one of Hitler’s horrible camps, and Arthur found that he could not finish it.

He shuddered and pushed the World War II pile to the side, grabbing another letter before he was sick.

 

_Dear Dollophead_ ,

_You would love the settlers in New England – or “America”, as they’re calling themselves now. They’re just as stubborn and pig-headed as you are. Idiots, the lot of them. Independence, well, it will come back to bite them later, make no mistake._

_Everything in this world has changed so much since you’ve been gone. Camelot is no more, all of my friends are dead, and there is more world that we possibly imagined during the time of knights and swords. Everything’s different now._

_Well, everything except me._

_Because that’s what you would have wanted._

_What did you say?_

_“I don’t want you to change. I want you to always be you.”_

_Problem is, I’m not so sure that’s a good thing to be._

_Merlin, the 3 rd of December, 1783_

 

Arthur’s chuckles morphed into tears as he continued the letter. What had begun as insulting Merlin, the Merlin he knew so well, transformed into a Merlin he had only seen briefly in his life. A Merlin of pain and loss. A Merlin who had eyes too old for a face so young.

 

_Dear Dollophead,_

_I thought I saw your ugly mug the other day. It was in passing, nothing more, and I thought for one passionate second that it was you. I turned around so quickly I popped my neck. His hair was the same shade as yours._

_But he wasn’t you. He turned to look at me and it was all wrong. His nose was too long, his eyes were brown and hard, not kind and as blue as the sea like yours. His sneer so different from your smile._

_It happens so much more than I wish it would. I know that you’re gone, but sometimes my heart doesn’t like accepting reality. We both know that._

_There were so many times that I thought I’d lost you._

_But now, there are days that I can’t believe I actually have._

_Merlin, the 20 th of July, 1986_

 

As Arthur goes deeper into the pile, the pages turn into parchment, the ink older and faded. He pages are torn and aged and more familiar to the medieval man. They also multiply. Arthur realized as he flipped through the letters that the ones in later years are more spread out as Merlin traveled and busied himself with other things. As he saved lives and helped end wars. But these, the ones that aren’t as far from Arthur’s death, they abound. Some are month after month, even several that are only days apart from when he first found Gwen’s reincarnation.

But these, these all start with Arthur’s name.

 

_Arthur,_

_Things are getting fuzzier. It’s hard to recall Kilgharrah’s disapproving tone. I can’t remember Elyan’s jokes. The last time Lancelot asked my mother’s name I couldn’t answer. It gets harder every day to reminisce about things that I can’t remember._

_I hate forgetting. Forgetting means saying goodbye, and I have always hated that._

_It’s been over 500 years._

_Some days I can’t recall Gwen’s face, or Gaius’s voice._

_But, I still remember the way the sunlight shone on your hair._

_Merlin, the 14 th of November, 1128 AD_

 

_Arthur,_

_I did not think that missing someone could hurt so much. When my father died, I missed him. When Freya died, I missed her. When Will and my mother passed, I grieved them. When Gaius and Gwen and Leon and Perce died, I felt that loss._

_But nothing, nothing compares to the pain of losing you._

_I did not know how much you truly meant to me until I lost you. I did not know how much I loved you until I could no longer tell you._

_I cried when I lost my parents, my friends, but losing you was like losing part of myself._

_Kilgharrah would laugh. He always said one could never be whole without its other half._

_How right he was._

_Merlin, the 31 st of July, 954 AD_

_Arthur,_

_When I asked for a day off, this wasn’t exactly what I meant._

_You have been far too generous, sire._

_Merlin, the 27 th of February, 813 AD_

_Arthur,_

_I’ve built a cottage by the lake. I’m staying in it now, but I don’t think I’ll stay long. Whenever I’m here, it just reminds me of everything I’ve lost, and that hurts too much. But it’s reassuring to know that this hasn’t changed._

_I should have known you would be asleep for so long. You always were so impossible to wake up in the mornings._

_Perhaps I should just sing really loudly. You always hated it when I sang in the mornings._

_Merlin, the 9 th of April, 799 AD_

 

The letters lost dates after that entry. Arthur wasn’t sure why. Perhaps Merlin just hadn’t cared enough to write it, or maybe he had written so many in such quick succession that it didn’t matter.

 

_Arthur,_

_I can never forgive Morgana for betraying you. In the end, she’s the reason you’re dead, and I will never forgive her._

_Still._

_I can’t forgive myself either, for betraying her first._

_Arthur,_

_I am founding out that pain doesn’t go away even after two hundred years. You once told me that no man was worth my tears. I replied that you certainly weren’t._

_I was right, in the end._

_You were worth so much more._

_Arthur,_

_Gwen died this morning. I hope she finds you. I never went back to Camelot after you died, but I watched over her because I know that’s what you would have wanted._

_She had three lovely little boys, you know._

_One of them had your eyes._

_If you see her, tell her I’m sorry._

_Arthur,_

_I still haven’t died._

_It’s annoying._

_I just want to see you again._

 

_Arthur,_

_Please come home._

 

Arthur picked up the last letter on the table. It’s the oldest, and somehow Arthur knew that it was written only days after his death.

It is the only letter since 1148 that is addressed as Dear Dollophead.

_Dear Dollophead,_

_There was a time where I thought I could never have a friend who could be such an ass._

_That was my mistake_.

 

Arthur stood over the papers that now littered the floor as well as the table, clutching the last letter in his shaking hands. Tears blurred his vision and pain blurred his brain. Hours of inhaling memories that Merlin had given to him had caused both happiness and hurt. So many times that Merlin had been alone and felt worthless, but also times of laughter and humor with friends that he had found again. New adventures with Gwaine that he missed, long walks with Morgana on the shores of France that he could not attend, and a friendship that had bloomed between Merlin and Mordred that Arthur could not take part in. Hours of stories with Leon by the fire, being a field medic with Gaius during the two World Wars, playing with Gwen’s son who always, in every lifetime, sported his name. And even Uther, in all his pride and glory, and the respect that Merlin found for him during the Vietnam War.

Things that Arthur had been in a lake during.

And always, always Merlin, missing his king.

Arthur was drowning, _drowning_ , in the wounds of a friend that he had never been able to heal.

A door creaked open and Arthur turned.

There stood Kilgharrah, in all his disapproving glory. “Ah, he’s awake.”

There was a chuckle from behind the old man, followed by, “Well, it’s about damn time.”

Arthur was moving towards the familiar voice before Merlin’s face even appeared. The blue eyes and quirked grin that meant the world to him shone back as he pushed Kilgharrah out of the way to get to his king. He reached for Arthur and pulled him into an embrace that could crush his spine and held on for what felt like hours. He wanted to say a thousand apologies, a thousand thank you’s, and a thousand other things that he couldn’t put into words.

But it could wait.

As he grasped Merlin tighter than Merlin was grasping him, he realized that they had forever and an age.

It could wait, because they had each other, and nothing else mattered.

They pulled back, and Arthur noticed that Kilgharrah had disappeared from the doorway, probably to go be annoying and unhelpful to another wayward sorcerer. He didn’t care.

“What have you been doing?” Merlin laughed, gesturing to the mess Arthur had created, but there were tears in his eyes.

Arthur smiled gently and took his hand.

“Reading letters from a friend.”


End file.
